


The Masochism Tango

by VengefulHybrid



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-04
Updated: 2011-05-04
Packaged: 2017-10-19 00:01:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/194690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VengefulHybrid/pseuds/VengefulHybrid





	The Masochism Tango

He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The thick, cloying scent of blood would forever be caught in his clothes, the Spy decided as he stared in horror at the scene unfolding before him.

It started with the two REDs –the Medic and the Spy- pushing and pulling and tugging and tearing at each other’s clothes until Spy is completely naked and Medic is left still mostly dressed. The German grabs the back of the Spy’s balaclava, more than likely catching his hair along with it and pulls back, eliciting a hiss from the man. Medic’s mouth closes over Spy’s shoulder, the Frenchman groans loudly, wantonly, and when Medic pulls back the BLU Spy can see the damage he did with those teeth he’s flashing. Nasty, sharp looking things made for piercing the skin and that’s what he’s done, the blood dripping freely down RED Spy’s back and chest. Medic pauses for a moment to lick his lips absentmindedly, tracing the delicate red lines with his other hand.

The Spy has gone rigidly stiff, his erection straining and impossibly hard despite the bite in his shoulder and the Medic’s hand tangled painfully in his mask and hair. The hand down Spy’s chest was replaced by a tongue and teeth, Medic biting at the already torn skin of Spy’s shoulder until a long flake of it pulled away with Medic’s retreating head. RED Spy’s only sound was a gasping breath but his body moved almost imperceptibly forward. The German chuckled darkly, pushing Spy towards the cold, metal operating table. They must have done this a dozen times before, the BLU Spy decides, biting his gloved hand while he cowers in the shadows, cloaked- thank heavens- and will remain that way unless he moves. That is something he’s unlikely to do, even as the RED Spy straps his ankles on the table and one of his wrists while he waits for Medic to finish with whatever he’s doing with the table over the other end of the infirmary.

There’s a sharp, metallic click from Medic’s end of the room and the man turns around on the heels of his jackboots, smirking sadistically. The Spy on the table shudders in what the BLU can only take as anticipation, murmuring something to the doctor when he got close, too low for him to hear. He hopes they haven’t noticed him. Medic strapped the Spy’s loose wrist down onto the table, the smirk never left his face even as he turns around to the tray he’d brought over, and in fact it had only gotten bigger. When he turns back he had two things in his hands; a scalpel and a vicious looking instrument comprised of a long handle that split in two, the end of the two prongs is tipped in a spiked wheel. RED Spy’s eyes never leave the wheels, ignoring the scalpel that is placed somewhere to the side of him. Medic attaches a wire to the base of the handle and fiddles with a dial on the box behind him, idly brushing the wheels against RED Spy’s chest as he does so. At first there’s no reaction from the Spy but a sharp twist of a dial had him arching away from the table, his loud groan of pain and pleasure made BLU Spy bite down on his bottom lip in an attempt to draw his attention away from the two REDs. It doesn’t work.

Medic presses the spiked wheels harder against Spy’s chest, they pierce his skin easily, drawing a long keen from Spy as the man writhed on the table. Medic shifted his grip on the instrument, rolling it down Spy’s abdomen and down his leg. Whatever part of his body the metal spikes touched jerked and twitched involuntarily. When the spikes ran out of flesh to pierce on their journey downward, Medic flicked off the power to the device and placed it somewhere where it could easily be reached later. Now he reached for the scalpel. He locked gazes with Spy, who was still twitching periodically, and bared those too-sharp teeth in an animalistic grin. The look in Spy’s eyes pleaded for more.

Scalpel still in hand, Medic placed a wet kiss on each of the holes down Spy’s torso, sometimes dipping the tip of his tongue into the little blood filled punctures. Each time he did, Spy’s muscles would tense ever so slightly, just enough for BLU Spy to notice. When the German reached the last few holes he moved away from Spy’s chest, instead he kissed the Frenchman, long and languid strokes of his tongue that spread Spy’s own blood through his mouth. Medic lifted the scalpel and ran the duller edge along the underside of Spy’s jaw and only then did he pull away from the bloody kiss. The sharpened blade split his skin easily, starting from the sternum and descended down to Spy’s pelvis. He was delicate, cutting only the skin at first before descending further and into the muscle.

Spy’s insides were eventually bared to the world under a steady surgeon’s hand; the man in question was running his gloved fingers over Spy’s organs, humming to himself in content. Spy was shivering, a blissful look on his face, even if he was losing too much blood to keep his erection. With a snap that made the BLU Spy flinch, he pulled off the soiled latex gloves and threw them away. He then began divesting himself of his clothing, again with a swift, medical proficiency; there was no unnecessary fumbling or waiting. He climbed onto the table, settling in between Spy’s legs and giving a cursory glance over to his ‘patient’ before sliding a now bare hand into the hole in Spy’s torso, shifting a few things about for a second before pulling it out and used the blood lathered on his hand to slick his cock, more for his own ease of entrance than out of some twisted sense of tenderness toward the Spy on the table.

He pushes in slowly, eliciting a choking groan from the RED Spy. Medic adjusts his glasses with his clean hand, panting ever so slowly as he begins thrusting into Spy. The sickly, wet squelch of Medic’s hand slipping back inside Spy’s torso had BLU Spy shutting his eyes in disgust; he’d never be able to face either man on the battlefield now without seeing that leering grin from Medic or without remembering the colours of Spy’s insides. He breathes as quietly as he possibly could, trying to keep it underneath the sound of Medic’s heavy breathing and flesh slapping against flesh. There was a gasp from Medic just before Spy gurgled and coughed, dying on the cold steel table with Medic still inside of him. BLU Spy only opened his eyes when the Medic began to speak.

“Your cologne is too strong. Get out of here before I use you as my next experiment.”


End file.
